


Revelation

by Tarangifer



Series: A Tale That Ends in Light [2]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Afterlife, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Background Relationships, Budding Love, Ceremonial Duel, Corporate Espionage, Deception, F/M, First Dates, First Person for Prologue Only, Forgiveness, Free Will, Gen, Goodbyes, Mildly Dubious Consent, Moving On, No Duels, Not Yu-Gi-Oh! The Dark Side of Dimensions Compliant, Past Lives, Post-Canon, Season Zero Easter Eggs, Workplace Sex, but passing mention of lots of other games
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-20
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-20 07:20:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30001287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarangifer/pseuds/Tarangifer
Summary: After defeating Zorac and ending the Shadow Games forever, Atem is faced with a choice: return to the afterlife and face the failures of his first life, or stay in the comfort of the present day with his friends and dearest partner. The choice seems easy at first, and only seems to get easier as the years go on. But the past soon begins to catch up with him - in the form of a suspiciously familiar young woman - and suddenly a revelation threatens to rock his peaceful existence to its very core.
Relationships: Atem (Yu-Gi-Oh)/Original Female Character(s), Kaiba Seto/Original Female Character(s), Mutou Yuugi/Original Female Character(s), Yami Yuugi | Atem/Original Female Character(s)
Series: A Tale That Ends in Light [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2206890
Comments: 3
Kudos: 3





	1. Home

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place five years post-canon. A look at what might have happened if Atem decided to stay in the present day instead of returning to the afterlife. Beware: contains rather large canon divergences, including a strong tie-in with my previously published fic, "Ascension," which features Atem's wife and my OC, Satiah. The focus of this fic is less on Satiah and more on Atem and his relationship with Yugi. All that to say, this fic may still read fine without previous knowledge of Ascension, but I definitely recommend checking it out anyway ;)
> 
> Huge shoutout to borichu for being my beta and sounding board. She has been the most amazing ray of sunshine in my life these past few months and I couldn't have done this without her!

_Our love is a star:_  
_Sure, some hazardry_  
_For the light before and after most indefinitely_

_Beth/Rest - Bon Iver_

Atem.

My name is Atem. 

I was given the name by my father, Aknamkanon, and mother, Meresankh.

I had a brother called Tefnak, who was strong and fierce and fair. He died far too young.

I loved them all. I loved them so much it hurt. It hurt to watch them being taken away from me, one by one, picked apart by disease, wrath, and shadow, leaving nothing but stale memories and the heavy burden of duty upon my shoulders.

I was never meant to be king. And yet, when I stood before Zorac, the Lord of Darkness, ready to offer my spirit to save my realm, it felt like the only thing the gods had ever asked of me. 

The gods? 

No… It was not the voice of the gods who had called me to this purpose. It was a soft voice, a steady voice. Noble, yes, but not divine. This person had lived and breathed and walked beside me, through the darkest time in my life. They were a pillar of strength — a safe haven in a thrashing storm. And though the memories of them were dull and jagged and stung like daggers in my heart, I knew… I knew I had loved this person most of all. 

Satiah.

Her existence washed over me like a warm tide; remembering her name tasted sweeter and more refreshing than the moment I had spoken my own. But for all the bliss and peace her memories restored, there also came spite and sorrow. For she had entered my life tugged along by the cruel string of fate — and had left it in a fiery blaze.

The only thing that brought comfort to me now was knowing she had finally found her own joy on the shores of the afterlife — deep within the field of reeds. I remembered glimpsing her there — bathed in golden light, kneeling by the water’s edge, smiling as she spoke in hushed and loving tones… But to whom did she speak? Who was it she cradled close to her in the shade of the palm trees — in the whisper of the wind?

Who—

“Other me…”

Who?

_“Other me.”_

No… No, it couldn’t be—

“Atem!”

I roused with a start, eyes flying open to stare into the mirror of my soul — my partner, gazing at me with concern etched deep into his features.

“Atem…? Are you alright?”

I forced myself to sit up and look around, finding four crumpled forms surrounding me and my partner on the cold ground. Behind me, the Tablet of Memories loomed large on the wall of the underground chamber. Slowly, my friends began to rouse — Anzu, Jounouchi, Honda — even Kaiba. They had all made it safely back from the memory world, thankfully no worse for wear. When they sat up and met eyes with one another, they said nothing. It wasn’t until my partner stood on shaky legs that Jounouchi surged to his feet and surrounded Yugi in an urgent embrace. Anzu was next, followed by Honda, each of them threading their arms around the others in a warm, grateful grap.

Anzu was first to pull away, her blue eyes shining. “Yugi,” she whispered. “Your other self…?”

My partner beamed and turned to where my spiritual form stood observing from the shadows. He nodded, and we switched places in a gentle pulse of warmth. 

I knew right away — something was different. This skin felt … _false._ Ill-fitting. Like I had grown to twice the size since I’d last been inside it.

“Thank you,” I forced myself to say. “All of you."

…

The next twenty-four hours passed in a whirlwind. I spent the long ride back to Cairo recounting the events of the Shadow Game with my friends — Jounouchi narrating the dangers they’d encountered with huge, exaggerated gestures; Anzu and Honda cutting in to add context and correct his mistakes. 

Over dinner, they pressed me about my memories, asking about my early life, my friends … my family. It took a long time to fully paint the portrait of my loved ones for them. I glossed over much of the tragedy, eager to keep things light and positive — like my partner would want. 

But I knew he could feel it, while he listened quietly from within the room of his soul: the weight of all the words I left unsaid — of the name I left unspoken.

Later, after everyone had returned to their rooms, I relinquished my hold on my partner’s body. But when I tried to retreat to my soul room, he stopped me.

“Other me—” He paused, looking guilty. “I mean … Atem.”

“It’s fine,” I assured him. “Please — call me whatever you like, partner.”

He flashed a sheepish smile and looked at his feet. “It must be strange, huh? To be bombarded with so many memories, all at once?”

I hummed an ambivalent agreement. “I didn’t live a long life… But there is still a lot to sort through.”

“Yeah.”

He looked up, and a sudden guilt forced my eyes away from his. I gazed out the window, where a low moon loomed large over the city. During my reign, the area around Cairo had been known as Memphis — a beautiful, holy city, ancient even during my time — and my wife’s birthplace.

“I hope you’ll share some more of your memories with me,” my partner said, pulling my attention back to him. “When you’re ready, I mean.”

Tortured though my smile was, it was true. “I’d love to.”

…

My partner slept soundly that night, his mind completely shut off from the world. Though I too longed for sleep, it never found me. Instead, I wandered for a while in my soul room, climbing up flights of stairs or sitting down to hang my legs off one of the sheer ledges. I could feel the rooms rearranging themselves, filling in the empty spaces with little moments and memories, some precious, some painful. I was tempted to start turning levers and opening doors, but I resisted — fearful of the truths I might find behind many of them.

Eventually, I chose to remove myself from these temptations and crossed the hall to peek into my partner’s soul room. It felt close and warm, filled with half-played games and all the familiar comforts of home. I was surprised to see him curled up on the low bed in the corner of the room; usually he only occupied this space when he wished to trade places with me. But it seemed the trip through my memories had taken enough out of him to warrant a full retreat to his subconscious. 

At first, I had the urge to enter and wake him — to while away some time in the ways we used to when one of us had trouble finding sleep. But I ignored it, telling myself it was better that he remain blissfully unaware of the upheaval happening just across the hall.

Instead, I carefully closed the door again. With my hand still resting on the lever, a strange urge possessed me, and suddenly I decided to do something I hadn’t done in a long time: I flipped the lock on my partner’s door. 

As soon as I did it, guilt raked pins and needles down my spine. But I stepped back, looking at the door with jealous pity. It felt … needless. Cruel. That my heart was suddenly filling up with bitter memories, stealing the space meant for all the wonderful moments my partner and I had shared.

I closed my eyes, and within seconds I was back in the world of the living, staring at the low, water-stained ceiling. Lying there in this borrowed body, I could feel my own mortality closing in on me — like being buried alive. I rose up, crossed the room, and threw open the window. The air tasted crisp, but even breathing deep, measured breaths, my heart — _his_ heart — continued to thrum like a hummingbird’s wings. I pushed away, pulled on a jacket and slipped into a pair of shoes, heading out into the breezeway and up the stairs to the roof. 

I drifted as if blown by the wind, stopping at the edge with both hands supporting my weight against the low barrier. I let my eyes scan the horizon, starting in the east to watch the first thread of sun weaving above the mountains on the other side of the Nile; then drifting north, to the place where the river bent and bowed and split into a hundred different branches, tinted like patina from the rich silt at the bottom; and finally settling westward, where, over the windswept Giza plateau, loomed the Great Pyramids. Khufu’s tomb thrust itself like a dull spear into the sky — a far cry from its former glory, now no more than a crude monument to the place where Satiah had drawn her last breath.

“Pharaoh.”

I wrenched my eyes away, turning to watch as Ishizu stepped into the glow of twilight. 

“I am not surprised to see you out here so early,” she said, her voice a reverent prayer. She paused, allowing me a moment to appreciate her stark resemblance to the Priestess Isis. “Your memories… They must weigh heavy.”

For some reason, her presence compelled me to give a solemn nod. I knew I could trust Ishizu with the truth, even if I couldn’t yet bring myself to share it with my friends.

“Now that you have defeated the last remnant of Zorac, the Shadow Games will be no more,” Ishizu said firmly. “The Millennium Items have served their purpose. All that is left now is to gather them — and return them to the tablet of the underworld within your tomb.”

“My tomb?” I repeated, turning to her fully. Even after my memories had returned, I hadn’t given more than a fleeting thought to my final resting place. The last thing I remembered was kneeling in the sand before Zorac, the Pendant held high above my head and the weight of a kingdom on my shoulders. But there must have been someone who had come after me… Someone who had gathered up the pieces I had left behind. Someone I trusted to lead in my stead.

“That’s going to be a bit of a problem, then.” A cold voice cut like a knife through the chill of morning, bringing my gaze sharply to the shadows of the rooftop. Slowly, a tall figure sauntered into a ray of sunlight, his blue eyes set aflame.

“Seto—” I breathed. When he shot me an indignant look, I quickly corrected myself. “Kaiba … what do you mean?”

Kaiba held out his hand, revealing a small golden sphere resting in his palm. “You only have six of the Items.”

“The Eye?” I said. “How did you get it?”

“Bakura gave it to me,” Kaiba replied, closing his hand and pocketing the Item again. “I suppose he hoped it would pique my curiosity enough to follow you here. I’m ashamed to say it worked — not that I learned anything particularly useful from our little foray into your memories.”

“I never got the chance to properly thank you,” I said, remembering the speed with which Kaiba had left the chamber holding my memory tablet — _our_ memory tablet. “Without you, we wouldn’t have been able to defeat Zorac.”

“Still living in the past, aren’t you Yugi?” Kaiba sneered. “Or Pharaoh — or Atem, or whatever your name is now.” He crossed his arm over his chest. “Well, if you want so badly to return from whence you came, then at least let me be the one to send you there.”

I knew that tone well — the one of challenge; of pride. “What are you talking about?”

Ishizu cleared her throat. “The tablet of the underworld describes a rite of passage,” she explained cautiously. “A ceremonial battle — whereby your defeat would send you back to your resting place.”

The words struck me like lightning, but all I could do was stare at her as the dawning light tinted her an ashy grey.

“You can go home now,” she clarified, “if you wish.”

Home. My eyes were torn westward again, searching the horizon for familiar white limestone and weathered mudbrick — but there was only an endless expanse of concrete and smog, choking out the ridgeline as far as the eye could see.

“Atem.”

I turned, meeting Kaiba’s frigid stare once more. Suddenly, in the rising tide of his eyes I saw everything I’d left behind — friends both familiar and foreign, family both blood and bonded. They gazed wistfully back, welcoming me with open arms, ready with warm smiles, wise words, proud praise. But before them rose the shadow of everything that had come after — thousands and thousands of years, stretched out between us like a sea of darkness, separating past from future.

But if I was standing on the shores of the past, looking across the way into the safe harbor of the future … didn’t that mean that everything before me was the present? And wasn’t that where I’d found new friends — new family? Wasn’t there already so much warmth here? So much joy?

Wasn’t I already … _home?_

Just then, Kaiba lifted his hand again, this time brandishing a deck of cards. “One last duel,” he said, “to settle the score.”

“No.” My voice cut as sharp as a chisel driven into stone, surprising even myself. I dropped my eyes first to the ground, then swept them to Ishizu. “I will stay.”

It was hard not to feel Kaiba’s bitterness washing over me, threatening to dissolve my willpower like salt in water. But I kept my eyes averted, until Ishizu lowered her head in a dignified nod of understanding. Without another word, I turned to face the horizon, nearly blinded by the veracity of the rising sun.

“Fine,” Kaiba uttered. “But don’t fool yourself into thinking you’re staying for your own sake.” The laugh he spat delivered more venom than a thousand asps. “All that pride… I thought it was making you stronger. But really it’s just keeping you from admitting you’re afraid to leave him behind.”

The words wounded me, but it was nothing compared to the contempt I knew Kaiba felt. Because we were the same, he and I — both of us liars, concealing our own truths.

“Come and find me when you’re ready to stop running.”

I heard his footsteps drawing away, but they were drowned by the heavy beating in my chest — _thump, thump, thump_ — like someone knocking at the door.


	2. Initiative

It happened again.

Satsuki had just slept with her boss for the second time in as many weeks. 

And not  _ just _ her boss, but the president of her company, at which she had been employed for less than a year. As she lay tangled in the sheets of his enormous bed, listening to the sound of water running in the bathroom nearby, she tried to recall how it all started.

She could hardly remember the first time they’d exchanged words — her memory hazed by the buzz of alcohol and the thrill of a launch party for a product that had been several months in the making. The product in question was the brainchild of Satsuki’s research and development team, who had successfully innovated, nurtured, and launched a completely new line of Solid Vision virtual reality equipment meant for at-home use. Project Haven was part of KaibaCorp’s plan to bring Solid Vision technology into every home by the end of the decade, creating a gaming and entertainment infrastructure that not even their greatest competitors could hope to challenge.

Up until the launch party, Satsuki had been convinced President Kaiba wasn’t even aware of her existence. She was fairly far down the rungs of the corporate ladder, even for the R&D department, and he’d barely given her so much as a fleeting glance whenever he passed by her cubicle on the way to his office. But after two hours of sipping champagne with her teammates and schmoozing with executives at the launch party, she found a pair of steely blue eyes staring at her from across the confetti-covered room.

Seto Kaiba was known for his trademark smirk, but Satsuki had never seen it up close before — not until he’d swept toward her that night. She gaped at him until he was within arm’s reach, then quickly spun away, sure that it was some sort of cardinal sin to look into the president’s eyes for such an awkwardly long time.

“I hear you’re the one who recommended we switch hardware platforms to optimize render times,” he said, causing Satsuki to turn and nearly choke on the steep sip of champagne sliding down her throat. “Where did you get the idea?”

She coughed lightly; the burn of the bubbles made her eyes water. “I found some studies by SchroderCorp from a few years back,” she said, as casually as if she were talking to a coworker sitting in the cubicle next to her. “They tried the better hardware but ran into a load of bugs, so they dropped it. It’s actually kind of funny how close they were to cracking it.”

The president made a low noise. At first, Satsuki couldn’t tell if it was one of approval or dismissal, but he continued to linger, so she assumed the former. “Why didn’t we run into the same bugs?” he pressed.

“I fixed them.”

“You?”

Satsuki took a sharp breath inward; the glaze of alcohol threatened to turn it into a snort. “Yeah,” she replied. “I guess.”

He regarded her slowly, his eyes moving from the top of her head down to the tips of her toes. Satsuki suddenly became hyper-aware of her appearance, which since the start of the party had devolved from a versatile day-to-evening outfit into a mess of wrinkles and flyaway hairs.

Desperate to divert attention, she extended her hand. “I’m Satsuki Hidaka, by the way.”

He stared at her palm a moment. “I know who you are.”

Satsuki dropped her arm, her bemused half-smile falling away into a tight frown.

“Enjoy the party,” he said brusquely, sliding his hands into the pockets of his primly pressed slacks. “I’ll see you bright and early on Monday.”

With that, he whirled around and disappeared into the crowd. Satsuki stared after him, blinking rapidly in an attempt to keep the room from spinning.

Within seconds, her coworker Miho materialized with a huge grin on her face. “What was that all about?” she whispered over the rim of her champagne glass.

Satsuki turned and heaved a big shrug. “He asked how I liked the caviar.”

Miho cocked her head, sending the huge bow in her silver hair aflutter. “That’s it?”

Satsuki liked Miho — they were both close in age, both had a lot in common, and Miho was the only person who had gone out of her way to make Satsuki feel welcome after she’d joined the R&D team eight months prior. But Miho was also easily the biggest gossip in all of KaibaCorp, so, friendship or not, Satsuki was always careful about what she said around Miho.

“Yup.” Satsuki grabbed another water cracker topped with the brilliant orange roe and thrust it toward Miho. “Here, try it.”

Miho scrunched up her nose in disgust — roe was one of her least favorite foods, and Satsuki knew this. They both laughed as Satsuki pulled her hand back and shoved the whole cracker in her mouth at once. Satisfied with her diversion, she gulped down the cracker and returned to sipping champagne and mingling with her teammates.

Satsuki hardly gave the president another thought until the following Monday, when the entire R&D team packed themselves into a conference room to watch the unveiling of their next assignment. Tugged along by Miho, Satsuki made her way to the front of the crowd, surprised to see the president himself making his way into the room. The VP, his younger brother, was at his side, carrying a small silver briefcase in one hand. When the president took center stage, the buzz of the crowd quickly died down.

“Thank you all for joining me this afternoon,” he began. “I hope you all enjoyed the launch party for Project Haven.” A ripple of approval made its way through the crowd. “But there’s no rest for the wicked here at KaibaCorp. Which is why I’m here to show you what you’ll be working on for the rest of the year.”

Without pause, the president gestured to his VP, who cracked the cover on the briefcase and extended it to his brother. The president took from the briefcase a small, round object — a steel grey ring, no more than a foot in diameter, with a white strip running all along the outside of it. He held it aloft for the room to see.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is Project Aura,” he announced. “The future of Solid Vision gaming technology.”

The room rumbled with more excited chatter; Satsuki could feel Miho gripping to her arm like a vice.

The president smirked and glanced around the room. “I  _ could _ simply demo the product for you,” he said. “But where’s the fun in that? Let’s have a volunteer instead.” 

Dozens of hands shot up around the room, including Miho’s, who took Satsuki’s own arm up with hers. Satsuki clicked her tongue and attempted to pull her hand away, only to jolt with surprise when the president pointed in her direction. 

“You, right there, in the front row. Come up.”

Satsuki stood frozen a moment, glancing from side to side to make sure he hadn’t mistaken her for someone else. But he continued to stare at her expectantly, and soon Miho was pushing on Satsuki’s shoulder until she stumbled out of the front row, toward the low stairs at the side of the stage. She scurried up them, stopping an arm’s length away from the two sibling executives.

“Thank you for volunteering, Miss Hidaka,” the president said.

Satsuki felt her lips splitting with a smile that she was sure looked more like a grimace, hoping the tightness of her cheeks would at least conceal the burn she felt in them. The president truly was an impressive man — easily over six feet tall, with all the lean sinew to fill out his impeccably tailored suits. When he’d first approached her on the night of the party, she hadn’t been able to appreciate the staggering difference in their heights. But now, standing flat-footed without the aid of three-inch heels, she felt as small as a flea.

After a moment, he lifted the Aura device and settled it down on the crown of her head, then tapped a button on the back of it. Satsuki flinched when a perfect ring of light pulsed out of the device, scanning from the floor to the ceiling before disappearing completely. All around her, the room filled with low whispers of wonder, but she at first could not see what had drawn the crowd's attention. Only when the president gestured subtly over her shoulder did she allow herself to turn — when she did, a breath caught sharply in her throat.

There, standing on the other side of the stage, was a man. No — not a man, Satsuki quickly realized. A  _ hologram _ . A Solid Vision projection. One of the most convincing illusions she’d ever seen. As her mind caught up with her eyes, she finally allowed herself to take in more details about the man: he was dark-skinned and slight, but carried himself proudly — kingly, almost. Which explained the colorful regalia he wore: a blue-and-yellow striped headdress cascaded over his shoulders, and his arms and legs were clad in brilliant gold bands. Egyptian, Satsuki finally concluded — probably a Pharaoh character of some kind.

Gazing in wonder, she allowed herself to take a few steps forward, fascinated to see that the projection did not move with her — she figured the Aura device must be using satellite positioning and making microscopic alterations on the fly to ensure the projection remained at its original cast point. This kind of tech was on the absolute bleeding edge, something that had been spoken about only in hypotheticals in her college textbooks. What truly captured her awe, however, was how  _ lifelike _ the hologram was. The Pharaoh’s eyes followed her as she walked, and when she stopped no less than a yard away from him, it seemed almost as if he were breathing.

She took a moment to examine him more closely, seeing now that his eyes were a deep, burning indigo. They drove through her like knives, his brow angled low with conviction. Stranger still — the longer she looked, the more …  _ familiar  _ he seemed.

Satsuki jumped and turned when the president came to stand beside her. He smirked again and nodded his head toward the projection. “Go on. Ask him a question.”

Satsuki looked back at the hologram. She was quiet for a long time, her lips half-parted as she searched for words. “Who are you?” she finally asked.

The hologram lifted its chin. “I am a Pharaoh who ruled the land of Egypt some 3,000 years ago.” The voice, which came from the Aura, was calm, deep, and astoundingly clear; the observers hummed with satisfaction when they heard it.

The president gave another encouraging nod, prompting Satsuki to continue: “What is your purpose?”

“To wage war against my enemies,” the Pharaoh replied, turning to look at the crowd, “and to defeat the darkness in men’s hearts.”

Satsuki grinned and tilted her head. “What’s your name?”

A tense silence filled the air. “I am sorry. I cannot answer that question.”

A gurgle of laughter came from the crowd, and Satsuki turned to see the president wearing a smirk as he crossed his arms. “It’s just a prototype,” he said. “But if the first iteration was always perfect, we wouldn’t need all of you, would we?”

More laughter, followed by the president extending his hand in Satsuki’s direction. Grudgingly, she powered down the device, then removed it and offered it back to him. He thanked her one more time and gestured for her to leave the stage. When Satsuki returned to Miho’s side, she thought her friend might pass out from containing her girlish squeals.

Back up on the stage, the president continued. “With Aura, KaibaCorp will once again revolutionize the gaming world. Imagine: putting on your Aura anytime, anywhere, and immersing yourself in fully interactive, augmented reality simulations.”

Satsuki felt her heart hammering with excitement at the thought. An innovation like this hadn’t come along since the advent of the Duel Disk — but even that tech had limits. After all, Duel Disks required users to be stationary for their entire encounter, and projections could only follow a limited number of commands based on their card functions. If the president was to be believed, Aura would smash those barriers and create a one-hundred-percent mobile and interactive experience.

“But perfecting the hardware is only half the battle when it comes to making Project Aura a success,” the president went on. “If KaibaCorp is going to remain at the forefront of the gaming industry, we need to think beyond formulaic games like Duel Monsters, and really start digging into what’s possible with interactive media. I’m talking infinitely branching scenarios, complex NPC interactions, cooperative play both locally and online—” He stopped himself, reining in his enthusiasm with a tight sigh. “Well, I’m getting ahead of myself. First, you’ll need to get your hands on the tech. When you return to your workstations, you’ll all be granted access to the development package. Work with your managers to start planning the first sprint. I expect you to get started right away. Thank you, and good luck, team.”

Raucous applause erupted as soon as he finished, and it didn’t end until well after he’d left the room. The entire team was abuzz with excitement and speculation as they trudged in groups back out to the R&D floor. 

As soon as she sat down at her desk, Satsuki tuned out all the noise and dove directly into the dev package. It was tough to concentrate with Miho trying to tear her attention away every five minutes, but Satsuki managed to scroll through hundreds of lines of code and take half a pad’s worth of notes in just a few hours. She took only one brief break to hit the restroom and refill on coffee before she was back at it again. 

The next time she looked up from her monitor, her heart lurched to see it was already dark outside. She glanced at the clock — almost 7 p.m. Sighing, she stood and began to pack her bags, only to spin around when she felt a presence over her shoulder. There, a pair of icy eyes hypnotized her to stillness once more.

“You’re here late,” the president said flatly.

Satsuki breathed a laugh, dropping her eyes to resume packing up. “Lost track of time.”

“Care for a nightcap?”

Satsuki looked up again, watching as he jerked his head toward the east wing. Instinctively, she opened her mouth to decline, but something in the stale glow of his eyes filled her mind with every other word but ‘no.’

“Sure,” she conceded. “Why not?”

A slight smile took his face, and again Satsuki couldn’t decipher whether it was genuine delight or simply pride. She didn’t have time to decide before he turned away, starting down the narrow hall connecting the R&D floor to the east wing. Satsuki hurried to keep pace, following him right up to the huge frosted doors of his office where he pulled one open and motioned for her to enter.

Biting back her nerves, Satsuki brushed by him and sauntered into the office. It was enormous, but austere — sharp, angular furniture and matte black tiles, all illuminated by the cold city lights pouring in from the wall of windows across the way. There was a plain desk sitting in the center of the room, topped with a massive row of monitors, and a lounge area tucked in the far left corner against the window. When the president entered, he motioned toward the lounge. Satsuki followed his directions and strode toward it, placing her bag on the ground and settling herself down against the arm of the larger sofa.

“Preference?” the president asked as he made his way to the wet bar nearby.

“Doesn’t matter,” Satsuki replied, only to be handed a truly stiff pour of neat whiskey a few moments later. After she took her glass, the president extended his own. With a timid smile, Satsuki clinked his cup and took a sip of her drink, biting her tongue to hold in the sharp breath that sucked down her throat behind the liquor.

He settled himself down on the loveseat across the way, sipping idly on his drink. He didn’t say anything, but his eyes never once left her. Satsuki gulped down another mouthful of whiskey and smoothed her lips together.

The president hid a smile behind the rim of his glass. “So,” he said, taking another sip. “What do you think of Aura?”

This, combined with the warm pool of liquor already working its way into her core, finally brought Satsuki out of her shell. “It was …  _ amazing. _ ”

Before she knew it, she was gushing about all the fascinating things she’d already uncovered while reviewing the dev package — pointing out quirks in the code or opportunities for further exploration. The president listened patiently and attentively, speaking only to ask her questions or propose an alternative theory. It was odd — almost  _ dreamlike _ — how comfortable she soon became in his presence, and how good it was to speak candidly with someone whose passions aligned so well with hers. It suddenly didn’t matter that she was just a lowly R&D engineer, and he was the president of KaibaCorp. It only mattered that they both saw a thousand opportunities on the horizon.

Satsuki didn’t even know how much time had passed, once she finally finished her drink — and likely wouldn’t have cared, if it hadn’t suddenly hit her that it was a work night. Her full-cheeked smile slowly fell, and she leaned forward to push her empty glass onto the table between them.

The president cleared his throat. “Another?”

Though everything in her mind screamed ‘yes’ again, Satsuki forced herself to shake her head. “It’s late,” she said. “I really should get going.”

“Nonsense,” he protested, standing so fast Satsuki nearly tipped backward as she followed him with her bleary eyes. “You’ve been working hard. You’ve earned it.”

As he took up her glass and swept back to the bar, Satsuki could feel her emotions warring again. On the one hand, it was great to kick her feet up and chat with someone like-minded. But on the other, she couldn’t help but feel a bit suspicious about the whole situation. In her mind, Satsuki had done nothing to invite such …  _ familiar  _ attentions from arguably the most powerful man in Japan. 

Piqued by these thoughts, she stood and circled around the sofa, trusting its solid back to support her slightly wobbly weight. The president followed a moment later, offering her the fresh glass of whiskey. She took it silently. As she stared at her rippling reflection on the surface, she could feel the chill of the president’s gaze, snaking down her spine like morning frost and causing her hair to stand on end. Finally, she turned to him, sweeping her own eyes up his body — tracing the perfect lines of his suit jacket, roaming over the slightly loosened knot of his tie, and settling on the liquor-wet bow of his lips.

“Sir,” she began, “can I ask you something?”

He blinked slowly, then nodded once.

“Why did you ask  _ me  _ to demo Aura?” The question cleaved between them like a knife, leaving a hundred other words to fall into the void left behind.

The president let out a soft, staccato laugh and looked down at his drink. “You could say I have a good eye for talent,” he said, bringing amber whiskey to his lips again.

The answer didn’t satisfy her — not completely. But it seemed he already knew this. He leaned his hip against the back of the sofa, bringing his eyeline a bit closer to hers. Satsuki flushed at the sudden closeless, though she suspected it made no difference with the tinge of the booze already burning hot on her cheeks. 

“If we’re going to revolutionize the gaming industry for a second time, I need people who know how to take initiative,” he said, his voice suddenly low. “People who can think bigger than those two-bit sycophants you work with.”

Satsuki hesitated. “And you think I’m one of those people?”

“I think you’re a start.”

Satsuki didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Instead, she simply stared at him, her senses melting into a whiskey-soaked pool on the floor. 

“What do you say, Miss Hidaka?” He lifted his free hand and took a stray lock of her hair between his thumb and forefinger, placing it to the side of her cheek as carefully as if he were handling a china teacup. “Can I trust you to … take some initiative?”

The words acted on her like gravity, pulling her into him until her lips smoothed against his in a clumsy, glancing kiss. She broke away after only half a moment, her body swaying — lost and adrift. She felt herself falling out of his orbit, but Seto caught her and drew her back in, fitting her hips tight against his own and capturing her lips in another kiss.

What happened next came in a blur of tangled limbs, crumpled clothing, and spilled liquor. Somewhere between her blouse flying over her head and her body being guided down onto the sofa, Satsuki’s world was flipped completely upside down. Hot lips trailed down her throat and over her chest, fingers fumbling with clasps and zippers and popping buttons clean off. 

When their bodies joined together, Satsuki couldn’t tell whether this was the worst or the best decision she’d ever made. 

But it wasn’t until later, after she’d she slipped her skirt back up her hips, that she truly began to feel the consequences of that decision.

The worst of them was not the awkward small talk they shared as the president walked her to the elevator, nor the splitting hangover that plagued her the next day. No — the  _ worst  _ consequence … was that Satsuki found herself unable to say no when the choice presented itself to her again.

She’d tried to blame it on everything but her own desires — on the developers who’d gone home early on Friday evening, leaving a huge security vulnerability for her to find while working late yet again. Tried to blame it on her conscientiousness, in emailing the president directly to point it out to him. Tried to blame it on his eager concern, when he’d replied back and invited her to his home to correct the issue himself. Tried to blame it on the alcohol again — on that smooth bite of whiskey he’d insisted she take even after her vehement protests. But she knew. She knew she had nothing to blame but herself.

Her shame burned hot as Seto finally sauntered out of his bathroom, half-dressed, with the fringes of his hair still dripping from where he’d splashed his face with water. Satsuki pretended not to notice as he stooped and found his shirt on the ground, her eyes taken by the way the dim light of his bedside table outlined every plane and curve of his body. With a sharp breath, she forced herself to rise as well, facing shyly away as she shimmied back into her jeans and sweater. It was only when a hand fell to her shoulder that she finally spun back toward him, trailing her gaze up to clash once again with blue ice.

“Can you stay for a minute?” he asked softly — almost earnestly. “There’s something I want to show you.”

“Sure,” she said — an unbidden reflex, conditioned now after so many failed attempts to resist his pull.

Smiling, he jerked his head to a door behind him, then led the way through into his adjoining office. It was just as vast as the one at the HQ but felt somehow more welcoming — decorated with warmer wood tones and a few homey accents, padded in quiet carpet instead of cold tile.

Seto reclined behind the sturdy oak desk in the center of the room, tapping a key to wake up his PC. He motioned Satsuki over to him; like a faithful pet, she complied, even feeling so bold as to lean her hip against the arm of his chair. He typed a password, minimized a few tabs, brought up a few new ones. But Satsuki wasn’t watching the monitor — not really. Not when he continued to smile like that — like he was almost …  _ pleased _ .

When he leaned back and looked up, Satsuki finally tore her gaze away, settling it on the center screen instead. She found herself surprised to be looking into a pair of familiar violet eyes. For a moment, she couldn’t recall where she’d seen them before. Was it …? No, these eyes weren’t a hologram. They belonged to a real person — a grinning young man with a crown of wild black-and-blonde hair and a huge, triangular pendant around his neck.

“Is that who I think it is?”

Satsuki looked back at Seto to see his smile had turned to a wry smirk.  _ “That,” _ he said, “is the competition.”

Satsuki frowned and glanced at the monitor again. Yugi Muto — the once-hailed King of Games, master duelist and gaming savant. Even Satsuki, who had never gotten into Duel Monsters with any real enthusiasm, knew about Yugi. But despite his minor celebrity status, he’d all but completely fallen off the radar in the five years since he’d won the KC Grand Prix.

As if he could feel her curiosity, Seto continued. “I have it on good authority that he and his deadbeat friends are working on a project that could be in direct competition with Project Aura.”

Satsuki raised her eyebrows. “Wow,” she said. “Where’s he getting the funding for something that big?”

“It’s not so much his funding sources I’m worried about,” Seto replied, his smile slowly melting away. “I’m more interested in who’s  _ helping _ him.”

Suddenly, a thought struck her. “Do you mean to say you think there’s a  _ mole _ in KaibaCorp?”

Seto huffed a laugh, and at first Satsuki felt a prickle of embarrassment in the bridge of her nose. But then, he pivoted toward her and smiled again. “I don’t know for sure,” he said. “But I have a theory — and I want to prove it if I can.”

Satsuki didn’t miss the heavy implication in his voice. “What’s this got to do with me, anyway?”

A deep breath swelled his chest, his eyes lifting up to find hers. “Do you remember what I said about …  _ initiative _ ?”

His smooth tenor both tempted and unnerved her. But his eyes continued to spark in the light of the monitors, like circuitry executing a perfectly looped command.

“What do you want me to do?”


End file.
